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Chapter 17: Rec Room B

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Technically, Dr. McCoy should have put us on medical leave.” Spock says as they make their way down the hall towards the turbo lift.   

Jim snorts, “and who would we leave her to?” He gestures to the Enterprise around them, to all the heartbeats still held within her walls. He has to see this through, he can’t leave her, not now. He bullied his way into the captain’s chair, the least he can do is get her through this tough time.  

“Dr. McCoy also said you shouldn’t over-use your voice.” Spock raised one pristine eyebrow.   

Jim gives a bark of a laugh, “I’m pretty sure he told me to shut up.” His throat hurts, now that he can feel it, “besides, not all of us can do fancy no-touch mind talk.”  

Spock steps slightly to the side, signaling Jim enter the turbo lift first; commenting on it would just make it weird, so Jim steps in, Spock a step behind. Spock doesn’t look at him, when they get in the lift—are his ears just a bit greener?  

Spock’s arm (clasped behind his back, ever the picture of professionalism) makes an aborted movement before clearing his throat.   

“You can—” Spock’s spine straightens just a little bit, Jim openly stares, “to me. This bond, it’s two way.”  

So, Spock can read his mind?  

“Not exactly.” Spock still isn’t looking at him. His ears are definitely getting greener, “I get the impressions you send out. Given practice you could send sentences, emotion and--sensations.”  

“How did this—” Jim swallows around a cough, touching his throat as if that would make it go away. Bones isn’t here—he could turn it down—but there was something terrifying about that; when he’d been in Bones’ office and couldn’t feel at all, when it felt like he might never be able to feel again; “How did this happen?”  

The lift opens; “Keptin!” Chekov calls out. Jim keeps his eyes on Spock for a moment longer, waiting for something that was apparently not destined to come, before walking over to Chekov, who was already going a mile a minute.  

“—Mr. Scotty say that the repairs are as good as they can be given the supplies and Lt. Uhura hasn’t heard anything not originating from Earth or a sister system, and my analysis of the Narmada is done!”  

“…thank you, Chekov.” Jim decides not to question when Chekov appointed himself yeoman. Jim pitches his voice louder, speaking to the deck crew at large, “Everyone please continue to stay on high alert—I know this is a lot to ask, but we cannot lower our guard until Earth’s safety and the safety of this ship have been secured.” And then lower, “And someone get an engineer to look at Sulu’s station, that buzzing is going to kill me.”  

Sulu turns slightly, though his eyes don’t leave his station, and then in a questioning tone “Sir?”  

Jim cursing mentally, apparently, he’s not fully back to being able to tell what’s ‘normal’ for others to hear, “it’s—it’s nothing.” He sighs, “there’s just something off with the electrical in your station.” And then after a beat, when that doesn’t seem like enough, “I have good ears.”  

Sulu looks hesitant but nods—a red shirt is already on her way over, pulling a side panel off to look at the wiring inside. Jim settles himself into the captain's chair and it’s almost like he never left, except, of course, he now has the knowledge that there’s some kind of link between himself and Spock. He wonders if—nope, not a good time to be wondering about things that may or may not implode reality, not when he doesn’t know what does or does not travel across their link.   

Spock stands at his shoulder, next to his chair and Jim gets the distinct impression that he wants to say something.  

“Well?”  

Spock seems to fight himself for a moment, “…it’s more of a bond.”   

Jim can’t help laughing, just a bit; “Not a link then, got it.”  

“Loose connection.” The technician says after a moment, and thankfully, the buzzing stops. 


The wait is excruciating. Jim hasn’t ever seen himself as a patient man, built more for action, for doing. But this is the right play, even if the waiting has him in a constant state of tension—has them all in that constant state—waiting for the other shoe to drop or more accurately, starship to attack.   

The end of it comes without fanfare; it’s abrupt and bureaucratic and wholly unsatisfying.   

“Sir,” Uhura says from her station, hand at her ear, a habit she swears helps her hear better, “new transmission from Starfleet command.”  

Jim raises his chin in the direction of the deck display, “patch it through.”  

She nods once and then the screen is taken up by the council. At first blush they look as intimidating and distant as they’ve always seemed in the few instances cadets saw the council throughout their tenure at Starfleet Academy. But Jim can see where the edges crack; where an eye is too red and the pace of breath too fast. Jim knew things weren’t just going to go back to normal, there’s no way, but this feels like confirmation, somehow, like their universe truly would remain forever altered as the capacity for violence increased galaxy wide due to the actions of one man—Nero.  

“Your relief will be in orbit within the hour, Acting Captain Kirk .” Jaresh-Inyo intones and when Jim nods in understanding he continues, “an Andorian fleet will reinforce Earth’s airspace. The Enterprise will then dock at the Gamma station and repairs will commence immediately. You and your crew will stay in your quarters on base as we conduct after action interviews and reports.”   

“Yes, Counsel Member.” Jim nods, trying to come across as in control as he can.   

Jaresh-Inyo nods and the screen goes blank. He can feel the eyes turn to him.  

“You heard them; lets finish strong.” Jim says; directing the alert down to yellow. It sets him on edge, like it’s somehow more dangerous now that they’re not on red alert, but no one can hold the tension for this long. It’s going on 20 hours now (how has it not even been a day since the start?), and the shifts that are a key to efficiency on a starship never had the chance to be fully enacted, let alone still in use. They're all too tired, too tight, fighting off processing all that’s happened in deference to this moment.   

It's the longest hour of his life. 


It's weird. The artificial gravity of the Enterprise is set to the same as earth, but when Jim steps off the shuttle and on land, he feels a difference, one that pulls him down and makes moving a monumental effort.  O r maybe it’s the fact that they were unceremoniously told to dock and rest back up on base before the debrief would begin in earnest, left unmoored with not even a current to guide them.   

Rest doesn’t seem to be a real option, even as the sun sets before them. The bridge crew is the last to leave the ship; silent in the shuttle and seemingly lost once they land. Uhura has had watering eyes since they Andorian ships hailed them. From the set of her deep brown eyes, Jim knows it's not because of relief.   

Galia is— was —her roommate, Jim realizes with a pang. She's going back to an empty room surrounded by the reminders of the lost.   

Sulu, so calm and steady behind the controls of their ship hasn’t stopped jittering. He pulls out his communicator, taking a few quick steps away from them before speaking into it in hushed tones. His husband answers on the first ring; Jim can hear their little girl in the background and the absolute relieve that waft off Sulu has him grabbing the side of the shuttle to not fall. He won’t be able to see them any time soon, not with how Starfleet bureaucracy works, but hearing them safe is enough. Jim actively tries to stop listening to the hushed words of love; not wanting to intrude on a moment not meant for him.   

Chekov is likewise stuck in a tension of movement without release. His eyes flit around, taking in everything and seeing nothing, mind still working on calculations. He's mumbling under his breath; “I lost her...if I had accounted for the instability of the ground...no still lost her...what if I--” Jim’s stomach flips, feeling nauseous, feeling too much like his younger self that ruminated on what he would have done, how he could have saved his father again and again, always ending in death.  

Scotty is starting to understand the actual breadth of destruction that rocketed throughout Starfleet as he’d been sitting on his outpost unaware, looking at the too empty walkways of campus; at the few people walking that have hollow eyes.  

Spock is ram-rod straight, hands clasped behind his back, aborted footsteps taking him closer and further away from Jim in turn—resulting in a standstill, unsure in a way the Vulcan never seemed to be.   

Bones, strong, dependable Bones, straightens his shoulders and turns to them all; “Alright, everyone needs at least four hours of rest, preferably eight. Then I want high protein high carb meals in all of you. If someone comes to ask for a debrief or any other bullshit, tell them your doctor said to fuck off.”  

The laugh that forces its way out of Jim’s mouth is a wet thing that choaks itself out of existence after the first note. It does what Bones intended though, it gave them direction, gave them an unthinking reason forward. They disperse, each going their separate ways, out of sight but not out of Jim’s senses, which is probably the only reason that his mind is letting them go at all. Spock lingers for a long moment, seemingly debating within himself before giving a curt nod and heading to his own dorm. With every step Spock takes, Jim is reminded just how far away Spock’s dorm is. At the edge of his senses.    

“Come on Jim, you too.” Bones claps a hand on Jim’s shoulder, starting them on their way to their room. 


The shower had felt like heaven, letting Jim forget everything for a moment, en lieu of the hot water. Putting on clean clothes never felt so good. Standing at the threshold of his shared room is...wrong.  

Everything is the same; this room, his padd haphazardly on his half-made bed, Bones’s array of anatomical approximations in a pile because he refuses to use the digital models, the pile of gold shirts on his ‘clean’ chair that Bones always tells him to put away properly, Bones himself, laying on his bed, already snoring.   

It's too much the same. It’s like when he came back—when he’d walked into his room in Riverside and it was like Tarsus never happened, none of the good, none of the people, none of it. It prickles wrong against his skin. He can hear them all, hear their heartbeats, but it’s not enough. Why are they all so far away? Why is Spock so far away?  

Bones makes a sound in his sleep, one of distress.  

Okay, that’s it.   

“Bones,” Jim says and Bones is up too quick, all but crouching on the bed, looking around.   

“What?” He says, voice pitched to annoyed without an expression to match.   

Jim pulls back the covers off of Bones, marshaling him to movement, “Go to rec room B.”  

“What--why?” He asks, before squinting at Jim and sighing, picking up a pillow and blanket and getting up without further question, “Don’t take too long.”  

Jim goes to Uhura first, cursing himself for letting her go in the first place. What good would it do to let her back there, so soon? She answers his knock almost the moment he does it. Her eyes are red and puffy. She's in Gaila’s sleepwear.  

“Rec room B.” Jim says, voice sounding scratchier than before, still raw and bruised inside.   

Uhura says nothing, nodding once and walking past him in the direction of the rec room, not even bothering to close the door behind her. Jim closes it gently and waits until she’s around the corner before heading off again.   

Sulu and Chekov are close to one another so it’s an easy thing to knock on their doors and likewise tell them to get to the rec room. Scotty is in temporary quarters, easy to find as he follows the man’s presence. Scotty doesn’t know where rec room B is, so he follows Jim until they get to Christine’s room and she takes herself and Scotty from there. Last is Spock; not even in the same building as them, far away in the instructor’s quarters.   

Jim starts walking over; the walk turns faster and faster until he’s running across campus, stopping at the building entrance, blocked by the coded lock that won’t take his credentials. Acting captain or not, back here he’s still a student on academic probation, certainly not allowed to go into dorms he doesn’t live in.   

Jim’s huffing, trying to catch his breath as the air hurts his throat, as his legs feel shaky now that he’s stopped running. He's closer to Spock now, but somehow, he feels more frantic, like if he doesn’t see Spock right now, he won’t be able to—to breathe easy or, or—there's this wall of mourning that’s building, and if he doesn’t see Spock soon, they’ll both drown in it.   

But the door’s locked, and when Jim lifts his hands to the mechanism, intent on hacking his way in, his hands are too shaky to even attempt. He pulls out his communicator before putting it back. He doesn’t have Spock’s number, of course he doesn’t. Why would he. Why would Spock even want to see him now? What does Jim have to offer a man that just lost everything? The grief is building, building like it’s against a wall, pressing against the edges of his consciousness, waiting to flow over, waiting to crack and drown anything in its path—as the feeling grows, Jim finds himself shaking more, anxiousness rising. He has to see Spock now.   

“Spock!” Jim yells up at the building, as useful as nothing—Spock is five floors up, he’s half way down the building, Jim can tell with certainty, just how he knows that everyone else made it safely to rec room B, “Spock!” He says again, louder, feeling it tear at his throat.   

He needs to—wait—the link, bond, whatever it is, he can use that—Spock said he could send things too. Spock had also said it would take practice. No time like now. If he bangs at the proverbial door long enough, Spock will have to notice.   

Jim takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, gripping the door handle for something to anchor himself. Spock he thinks, pushing outward in a way that feels unnatural for thought, but natural for his other ways of being, for how he spreads his senses. Spock he thinks again, and again, until there's a stirring above, five floors up and half way down the building. then it’s a matter of following Spock with his senses, feeling him leave the room, hearing him move fast down the hall, then the stairs, then to him.   

Spock pulls back the door with more strength than needed, pulling Jim with it as his eyes fling open and he takes a stumbling step forward, barely catching himself before falling into Spock.   

“J--Captain.” Spock says, breathing too hard. He's wearing the black, long-sleeved undershirt and slacks of their uniform, hair curling just slightly at the edges, still wet from a shower.  

Jim feels almost lightheaded now, seeing Spock whole and real in front of him; the feeling of drowning receding, waves still lapping at the edges, still there and undeniable, but no longer threatening to pull him— them —under.   

“Spock.” Jim gets out in a rasp, and then, because it feels important; “call me Jim.”  

“...Jim.” Spock concedes with a slight incline of his head, “what can I do for you?”  

“I--” He cuts himself off with a cough.   

Think it, Jim. Spock says in his head, a thread of concern lacing the thought that makes Jim feel warm. The way Spock says his name here, in this space, seems more intimate, somehow, makes Jim feel worth more than he is.   

The thing is, Jim doesn’t really know what to say—how can he say that he’s gathering them together not for themselves but for his own selfish desire to keep them close? How can he say that ever since Spock started to walk away, back to his dorm, he’s felt on edge and uneasy? How can he even begin to explain to Spock of all people, that despite Spock losing so much, despite Jim digging a knife into a still bleeding wound, Jim needs Spock to stay with him, that he’s too weak for them to be apart like this after so much, that he’s getting a terrible, horrible feeling that Spock can hurt him in ways that he won’t be able to recover from. That Spock is hurting and Bones said there were consequences from bond dissolution and Jim needs to cling to Spock to assure himself that he’s alright because the idea of Spock hurting him isn’t as terrifying as the idea of Spock hurting himself. How can he put words to this knot?   

Jim opens his mouth out of habit, struggling to find words, “Can you come with me?” He settles on eventually, tilting his head back, in the direction of the rec room, the direction of the others.   

Spock can’t know what he means by that, not really, but he nods and Jim can’t stop himself from sighing in relief, finally letting go of the door handle and straightening on shaky legs. There's a hand on his upper back—warm and firm—and Jim looks up to find Spock closer than before.   

You don’t have to shoulder everything alone. Jim can hear the thought clearly, can see it reflected in Spock’s eyes.   

I’m not, Jim thinks, thinks of everyone who he made suffer, including the man before him, I’m not, and that’s the problem. But the thought is small and folds in on itself and he’s sure Spock didn’t hear it, or feel it or whatever, because if he had, he wouldn’t still be looking at Jim like that.   

“Let's go,” Jim rasps, unable to send the thought like Spock so obviously wants, too wary of what else might slip through. 


When they get to Rec Room B, Jim can finally breath without the rattling worry in his chest. His people are back together, close where he can keep them safe. Rec Room B is the least rigid of the open facilities in Starfleet, which is of course why Jim found himself here more often than not throughout his short tenure at the Academy.   

It was made for people like him—well, not like him , but for people who needed space to get away. For those that get overstimulated, or need soft, round, diagonal spaces contrary to the rigidity of Starfleet’s normal modus operandi. There are no sharp edges, there are multiple chairs and couches with unconventional designs, large sacks that one falls into, piles of pillows that conform to whatever pressure they’re given, a large circle of a cushion that doesn’t quite know what it is.  There are blankets and pillows of a more conventional sort scattered about from wide cable knit to soft fabrics that almost feel like water to weighted blankets. There’s a space with large swatches of different textures; corduroy, velvet and felt, a large bucket with dried beans of all things, that Jim sometimes just likes to stick his hand into and feel the different textures and sizes, feel them rain from his palm as he pulls it out.   

It’s distinctly un-academic, yet Jim can sometimes focus better here than anywhere else. Sometimes, when he feels himself just this close to zoning out, coming here can help take him away from that edge. and when it doesn’t work, he’s at least somewhere where he can’t hurt himself, where the others that come into rec room B don’t judge him harshly.  

Now, he hopes, it’s a place of comfort where they can be together. A place different enough from everywhere else to not be associated with—anything. Where they can be and settle and slowly come back into themselves without the pressures of who they are.   

Uhura is in the pile of pillows, closed eyes red-rimmed, but breathing deep and even, Christine at her back, likewise asleep, both covered in a large cable knit blanket. Chekov is close by in the pile, sighing out deep breaths just on the edge of snores. Scotty is splayed, starfish style across the large cushion, surprisingly silent for how he is awake, and Sulu is in a hammock hanging from the ceiling that Jim hasn’t ever even noticed.   

Bones grunts at them when they get in, situated on one of the sacks underneath a blanket, on the edge of sleep himself. He gestures to waters on a low-lying thing mascaraing as a table, mumbling about hydration. Jim obliges, picking up the water bottle and going for a slip that quickly turns into him finishing the entire bottle quickly, suddenly painfully aware of how thirsty he was.   

This is better . Jim looks at Spock, but Spock is looking at the rest of the bridge crew and Jim wonders if he was meant to hear.   

Jim looks around the room, heading for one of the large sack-like seats; settling on the purple one that could fit at least three people. He wants to join the pillow pile, get so close to them that he feels their breathing, not just hear it, but he’s already been selfish enough, asked for more from them, dragged them here, when they’ve already done so much.   

He all but falls into the sack, slowly sinking with it as it breaks his fall. He's awkwardly splayed across it, feeling the strain his position puts on his body (stretching his neck too far, bending his torso too much to the left, leaving his elbow dug into his waist), but he can’t get himself to move now that he’s off his feet.   

He hears Spock walking closer, but it’s still a surprise when there are hands on him, picking him up like nothing and putting him back down in a more comfortable position, laying him across it like a makeshift bed. Jim opens his mouth, but doesn’t get a sound out before a pointed look has him shutting it with a click. Spock looks around a moment before stepping out of Jim’s line of sight, and right before Jim manages to muster up the energy to move enough to look for him, he’s back with a blanket that he drapes over Jim. it’s weighted and it makes Jim feel settled. Spock then sits himself in the last unoccupied space on the same purple sack, sitting cross-legged, posture straight in defiance to the curvature of the sack.    

“Go to sleep, Jim,” Spock says, the slightest whisper of words that Jim hears clear as day. It's permission, an excuse, to finally stop and rest.  

Notes:

....it's been a hot second, hasn't it? thank you so, so much to all those that review, and even more so to the people that are still reading this after so long, you're the real MVPs. I do hope you're still liking it :D

not beta'd this time around, so any and all mistakes are my own.